


That's Why

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/F, Feelings, Fingering, Messy Bottom Lexa, No Character Death, Oral Sex, Sappy, Strap-Ons, Tumblr Fic, Vanilla, blindfold, canon adjacent, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve anymore. Wanheda has learned to keep her feelings hidden—something Lexa has been taught from childhood, yet somehow always fails to do—but in her eyes, Lexa can read all the words she doesn't say: 'yu ste klir' and 'yu ste meizen' and 'ai hod yu in'. (Messy bottom Lexa, sweet/comforting Clarke)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A vanilla oneshot/drabble that wouldn't leave my head. It is what it is.
> 
> You can follow me @raedmagdon on tumblr if you want.

It's in the way Clarke sweeps the stray strands of hair out of her face, tucking them back behind her ear. They cling to her forehead, catch against her rasping lips, until Clarke's fingertips brush them back where they belong. And when Clarke's palm lingers there long after, thumb running back and forth over the burning point of her cheekbone, Lexa always forgets how to breathe.

It's in the way Clarke's hands roam her body, conquering one moment, trembling with reverence the next. Clarke's hands are soft and strong, and they undo her completely as they take in her shoulders, her sides, her breasts. When Clarke tugs gently at the stiff peaks, her hips jerk against her will, but Clarke's thigh is always there to offer the perfect amount of pressure. She never finds herself reaching out through empty air.

It's in the way Clarke gazes down at her, blue eyes deep enough to drown in, making silent promises. Clarke doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve anymore.  _Wanheda_  has learned to keep her feelings hidden—something Lexa has been taught from childhood, yet somehow always fails to do—but in her eyes, Lexa can read all the words she doesn't say: ' _y_ _u ste klir'_  and ' _y_ _u ste meizen'_ and ' _a_ _i hod yu in'._

And with Clarke, she does feel safe. She feels beautiful. She feels loved, in a way she hasn't since Costia's death—perhaps since even before.

That's why, when Clarke's lips leave the tight point of her nipple and begin wandering in lazy trails down her stomach, her whole body shakes. It's why her clenching hands fist the furs beneath her, before finding a better hold in Clarke's golden hair. She doesn't tug, or direct, or try to control the path of Clarke's mouth.  _Heda_  can never surrender, or show any sign of weakness, but  _Lexa_ trusts Clarke with everything she is. Her submission is a gift, offered up with the whole of her heart.

That's why, when Clarke finally spreads her legs open and ducks beneath her knees, she melts instead of tensing. She's still shaking, still shuddering, rocked by the storm of desire and emotion Clarke always stirs in her, but she isn't afraid. She isn't afraid of this, not when Clarke is the one gazing up at her. She isn't afraid to love, not when Clarke is the one loving her.

That's why, when Clarke's tongue finally sweeps flat between her lips and circles the sensitive bud of her clit and swirls against her entrance, Lexa doesn't stifle her cries. She's willing to give voice to her pleasure, her desire, her  _need—_ and most of all, her love. Muttered words of devotion mixed with Clarke's name spill out, but she knows the stream of sighs and pleas is appreciated. She can tell by the way Clarke speeds up, trying to stimulate every part of her at once.

When two of Clarke's fingers slide inside of her, she freezes in her rocking. Her hips quiver, and she can only clamp down in blissful acceptance.

When Clarke's mouth latches back onto her clit and slowly starts to suck, she bites down on her lip. The pain is slight, soon washed away by a crashing wave of pleasure at the feather-light strokes.

When Clarke's other hand finds hers, twining their fingers together and squeezing tight, tears well in her eyes. She doesn't mean to cry in moments like this, but she doesn't mind when it happens. Not anymore.

And then she comes.

She comes against Clarke's mouth, in a pulsing tide of wetness, fluttering and clenching and  _squirming_  because it's all just too much. She comes with gasps and whines and whimpers that she didn't even know she was capable of making before Clarke showed her how. She comes, and comes, and comes, until Clarke's chin is a sticky mess and so are her thighs and her abdominal muscles hurt from how hard they've been rippling.

That's why, when the throbbing within her finally fades, she lets go of Clarke's hair and throws her arm over her eyes as a shield, hiding in the crook of her elbow. Even though they have done this countless times before, part of her is still embarrassed, still uncertain. But then Clarke scatters a soft shower of kisses over belly, and she finds the courage to peek out again. She's still sniffling, but there's no helping it.

_"Klark..."_

When Clarke looks up at her, Lexa is sure her chest is about to burst.

" _Ai hod yu in seintaim._ "

As always, Clarke smiles with the full force of the sun radiating from her glistening face. As always, Clarke crawls up to snuggle behind her, draping a warm arm over her waist. As always, Clarke nuzzles into the back of her shoulder and starts breathing deeply, inhaling the scent of her skin. Lexa shifts back into her, basking in the glow, wrapped up in the blanket of love Clarke has surrounded her with despite not saying a word. Clarke's love is everywhere, and so is her own, and sometimes, her heart hurts because she can't hold it all.

She closes her eyes, content to drift off to sleep. It's in the way Clarke holds her, as if she never wants to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it again. I'm sorry. =/ Inspired by this little gem on tumblr: 'i feel like lexa would like being blindfolded during sex so that she feels so much more and the feeling of clarke’s tongue against her clit is augmented and it’s just this sensory overload until she comes hard with her fingers fisting blindly in clarke’s hair'
> 
> (Follow me @raedmagdon on tumblr)

Sometimes, she has trouble stepping out of herself.

She has always loved with her whole heart, despite countless warnings to shield it, but that doesn't mean lowering her guard is easy. She has been trained for this from childhood—to be Heda, to be solid and strong and uncompromising. As Heda, she is stone, a towering wall, as mighty as the sheer face of a cliff. But even stone splits and cracks against the endless beating of the ocean, and whenever Clarke's head is buried between her thighs, Lexa feels as if her very foundation might shake apart.

That's why she so often closes her eyes. Why she turns her head, burrowing further into the blanket of furs beside her so she won't have to watch. Why she throws her arm carelessly over her face, pretending to shut out the afternoon glare outside the window, when in reality, she is blinking away tears because she is simply overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with pleasure, overwhelmed with feelings, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of sensation as Clarke's tongue teases apart her outer lips like a small dart and flattens over the inner ones, swirling over them in slow, slippery strokes.

And that's why, when Clarke had first suggested the blindfold, she had responded with laughter.

"Why wouldn't I want to see you?" she had asked, with even more offended dignity than necessary. "You are beautiful, Klark." And it is the truth. She can lose herself for hours staring at Clarke's face, gazing into the bottomless blue lakes of her eyes, memorizing every small detail. Clarke may draw pictures of her from time to time, but Lexa has already committed a perfect image of her own to memory.

"But I don't just want you to see me," Clarke had replied, cupping her cheek and tucking a loose braid back behind her ear. "I want you to  _feel_  me."

And, oh  _Keryon,_  she can feel Clarke now. With soft black fabric stretched over her eyes and her wrists tied above her head, she can feel every small slip of Clarke's tongue as it explores her softest places. She can feel the ticklish heat of Clarke's breath washing over her. She can feel every low moan as Clarke's lips seal around her clit and suck her in, and she can feel the slightest fluttering of the possessive fingertips curled around her parted thighs.

It's almost too much. She has never been so sensitive, so  _exposed_ , but although part of her wants to rip the blindfold off and watch exactly what Clarke is doing to regain some control, another part of her takes some comfort in the darkness. Bound this way, she can float. Covered this way, she can let Heda lay down her sword and allow Lexa to focus completely on the steadily pounding ache that is growing between her legs.

When she tries to roll her hips, searching for more warmth, more pressure, Clarke lets out a soft growl of warning. It's barely audible, so quiet Lexa isn't even sure her ears have picked it up, but she can _feel_ the vibrations, and her inner walls shudder as she spills another pulse of wetness over Clarke's chin. Without her sight, she can only imagine how it looks—Clarke's gorgeous mouth, puffy and pink and gleaming, flushed cheeks smeared with clear glaze, the proof of her desire...

Somehow, the visual is even more powerful because she can't see it.

Still, some part of her resists, like she has always been taught. Her chest constricts with each ragged, shallow breath she takes. Her limbs quiver, strung taut with tension. Her heart hammers somewhere inside her head as well as her chest, and the rush of her own blood is like a scream in her ears. The shapes her lips form— _'Klark'_ and _'beja'_ and _'I can't'_ —are silent, but she knows Clarke can see them. She knows because the wonderful heat of Clarke's mouth pulls away, a gesture of concern, and the awful smoothness of Clarke's tongue stops circling the stiff bud of her clit.

Suddenly, she is raw and aching and open, rocking against nothing but empty air.

And then Clarke's sticky cheek is pillowed on her inner thigh, and Clarke's hot exhale carries words along with it. "Yes, Lexa. You can."

She believes it. With Clarke, she believes it. Something within her cracks, and though her hands can only jerk helplessly in their ties, her legs are still free. She gives her permission by raising her pelvis, digging her heel hard into the middle of Clarke's back and offering herself up again.

The moment Clarke's tongue returns to her entrance, pushing deep inside of her, she feels instant relief. Her heart slows back down, and all her muscles melt, and the trembling that overtakes her body isn't the least bit fearful. It is pure bliss, supported by complete trust, and she gives it just as willingly as she gives herself.

When she comes, she comes in a soundless, shivering flood. Clarke is everywhere at once—thrusting into her, lashing her clit, covering her in flat, rasping swipes—and somehow, all those things have stolen her voice. She can't cry out, but she does stiffen and thrash, because everything inside her is overflowing, and Clarke is coaxing enough pleasure out of her to stain the sheets as well as their skin. Instead of fighting, she lets rippling waves carry her. Her struggle is over, and she isn't the least bit sorry.

Sometimes, she has trouble stepping outside of herself. But when Clarke scatters soothing kisses across her inner thighs and up along her stomach and climbs on top of her to remove the cloth from over her eyes, she feels more _like_  herself than ever before in her life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Received this prompt on tumblr: "What do I have to bribe you, you beautiful talnted human you, to write clarke with a strap on and messy bottom lexa smut to heal my soul?"
> 
> I will accept a portion of your newly-healed soul in exchange, anonymous prompter. ^^

Lexa isn't sure why she needs this.

She isn't sure why she needs the slow roll of Clarke's hips against hers, the force of their bodies colliding in stark contrast to the soft meeting of their lips. She isn't sure why she spills cry after cry into the hungry heat of Clarke's mouth when they are joined together this way, or why she shudders after every thrust. She isn't sure why having Clarke's warm weight overtop of her makes her feel safe, or why the deep stretch inside of her makes her feel full in more ways than one, but it doesn't matter.

She does need it, and she is endlessly grateful.

She loves the way the harness Clarke is wearing bites into her flesh. She loves the way Clarke's strokes start shallow at first, mostly a test, before slickness coats the shaft and the movements melt into something more fluid. She loves the way Clarke angles herself just so, battering into the perfect spot when she drives in and purposely dragging back across it whenever she pulls out. Even though Lexa knows it's impossible, she likes to imagine, to pretend that Clarke can feel the fluttering of her inner walls and share her pleasure.

And when the best thing of all happens, when Clarke stiffens above her and speeds up with a low groan, Lexa relishes the sign that her lover  _can_  feel something. She hooks her knees around Clarke's waist, wanting to help in some way, but it isn't necessary. Clarke is already pumping into her like a woman possessed, gripping her thighs to twine their bodies tighter, trailing hot kisses along her throat and nipping at her pulse-point.

With Clarke on top of her, she always has something to grasp onto.

With Clarke inside her, she doesn't need to hold everything in.

She needs Clarke over her, in her,  _with_  her always, until the two of them are sharing a single skin.

When Clarke's mouth trails away from her swollen lips and to mutter against her ear—not telling her to come, but asking—it's the beginning of the end. It's too much, and just enough, and every muscle in her body lights up with fierce trembling. She never lasts long when they do this, but she has learned to savor the precious seconds and string them out in her own head. 

She threads her fingers through Clarke's mussed golden hair, digging her heels into the small of her lover's tense, shifting back, and surrenders to the surging motion on top of her and within her. Her first instinct is to cling to Clarke with everything she has, and she doesn't deny it. She needs this, needs  _Clarke,_  and she refuses to pretend otherwise, especially in moments like this.

That's why, when her inner walls clench and ripple around the shaft splitting her open and her clit pulses hard against the smooth leather edge of the harness, she throws her head back and shouts Clarke's name to the ceiling. She can't help it. More than pleasure, she feels a sense of rightness—especially when Clarke's hips give one last uneven jerk and a low whimper vibrates beside her cheek. Sometimes, she enjoys Clarke's orgasms even more than she enjoys her own.

They rise and fall together, in a single rhythm, clutching each other close as they float atop the waves. Lexa allows herself to drift, trusting Clarke as her anchor, and when she sinks back into herself, her face is tucked safely into the crook of Clarke's sweet-smelling shoulder. The shadows there are warm and comforting, and she inhales, covering the slope of Clarke's collarbone with butterfly kisses as Clarke pants heavily beside her face. After a while, their eyes meet, and Lexa feels the sudden urge to laugh, maybe because she knows it's one of the rare times she can.  _Heda_ is far too dignified, but Lexa isn't.

She does, and soon, both of them are giggling, noses brushing as their foreheads rest together. The shared fit of laughter eventually ends in a kiss, as it so often does, and Lexa resumes sifting her fingers through Clarke's silky hair, tilting her pelvis up in clear invitation to continue. She isn't sure why she needs this, but she knows that she does, and she knows that as long as she has Clarke, she will always have enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the tumblr prompt: 'do you think Clarke has ever drawn Lexa's pussy?'

"Hold still."

It's a simple command, clear and concise—but Lexa isn't used to following orders instead of giving them, and her face has never burned hotter. Stripped of her clothes and reclining on the bed, she feels unbelievably exposed. The cool air prickles against every inch of her skin, and her heart is hammering wildly within the cage of her ribs.

She has been naked in front of Clarke countless times before. In fact, Clarke's head is usually buried between the trembling legs she's now spreading several times a week. But somehow, this is different. Somehow, while Clarke is sitting a few yards back in a chair instead of lying on the bed with her, eyes flicking up and down from her sketchbook, Lexa can't help but squirm. The scratch of charcoal across paper sends shivers down her spine, shivers that aren't entirely unpleasant.

"Lexa..." Clarke gives her a chastising look, one that's nevertheless filled with fond affection.

Lexa drags her lower lip between her teeth and tries to hold still, encouraged by the plea for obedience in her lover's eyes. She would give Clarke the sun, moon, and stars if she could. Posing for one of her drawings is nothing in comparison. She focuses on her breathing, trying to even it out, struggling to ignore the embarrassing heat between her legs as Clarke's eyes roam the bare expanse of her body.

"Lexa?" The second time Clarke says her name, her voice is throaty and full of concern. "Are you sure you're okay? You look like you're about to pass out."

She swallows, trying to dislodge the nervous lump stuck in her throat. She manages to work some moisture into her dry mouth, but most of the wetness in her body has already rushed downward. "I'm fine," she rasps, hoping she sounds more confident than she feels. "This pose is just... intimate."

A small smirk spreads across Clarke's face. "You aren't embarrassed, are you?"

She is, but she doesn't have the presence of mind to articulate why. She can feel the heat and pressure of Clarke's eyes almost as if they are hands, coaxing her thighs to spread, making her arch, leaving her sticky with unsatisfied want. Instead, she can only heave a shaking sigh. "Please, continue."

"I promise I won't let anyone else see," Clarke says, not really looking at her. She has bent back over her sketchbook, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. It's an adorable gesture, but Lexa can't help finding it arousing as well. She's known that soft pink tongue all too intimately, and she keeps imagining how it would feel dragging down her stomach, sliding up from her knee, flicking feather-light over the swollen bud of her clit.

"This is just for me," Clarke continues, but judging from the glint in her blue eyes, Lexa knows her shudder hasn't gone unnoticed. "For me to look at when I can't have the real thing..."

That causes a whimper to crack in Lexa's chest. Her embarrassment is swiftly giving way to arousal, and something about the way Clarke's lips wrap around the words ' _the real thing_ ' is intensely erotic. "How much longer?" she asks, panting slightly.  _I don't know how much longer I can hold this pose..._

"Almost done." With a final flourish, Clarke sets down her sketchpad, blowing away the excess charcoal and placing the stick carefully to one side. She doesn't offer to let Lexa see the finished product, and Lexa doesn't ask. Instead, she reclines on the bed, spreading her knees even further in invitation and hoping Clarke won't make her beg.

Luckily, she doesn't have to. Clarke is on her in moments, prowling up from the foot of the mattress, tongue already rolling over her lips and eyes fixed on her prize. The sheer  _hunger_  of the look is enough to send another pulse of warmth straight to Lexa's core. She gasps as Clarke ducks beneath her knees, then groans as a warm tongue parts her outer lips, covering everything in a broad, flat stroke.

"You know," Clarke mutters, close enough for Lexa to feel the hot wash of her breath, "it was  _fun_  drawing you. Getting the shapes right... every lip and fold..." Her tongue darts out again, almost dancing, and Lexa can't help but keen. "Making sure I captured how  _wet_  you are... all for me..."

Lexa can't help it. Her hips buck, and her hands shoot down to grasp Clarke's golden hair, only for Clarke to catch her wrists and pin them to the mattress. "No. Let me. Relax."

She does. Something in Clarke's voice demands it. She closes her eyes and whines, embarrassed at how close she already is, but too desperate to pretend otherwise. She  _needs_  to come, and she can only hope that Clarke will take pity and finish her without teasing too much first.

"I just wish..." Clarke mumbles between licking and sucking, still somehow managing to be everywhere at once. "I wish I could... capture you... just like this..." Lexa almost bites through the inside of her cheek when Clarke's lips seal greedily around her clit. When the pressure vanishes, she's close to screaming. "Maybe next time, I'll have you touch yourself... so I can draw you at  _just_  the right moment..."

That suggestion is too much. She's coming before Clarke's tongue even finds her again, releasing everything she has in short, sharp pulses. It's messy and fast and she's pretty sure her eyes are watering with tears, but she's too far gone to care. She _needs_ this, and Clarke's desire for her is intoxicating. By the time the rippling waves cease, Clarke's chin is gleaming with her slickness, and her inner muscles continue to quiver every few seconds.

"That was a thank you," Clarke purrs, pressing a kiss to the top of her pubic bone. "And this..." She dips her head, beginning to clean up after herself with a long, slow swipe, "...is some encouragement for next time..."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More tumblr sin. *cough* Someone came up with the idea of Clarke touching herself on top of Lexa without allowing Lexa to help.

Watching Clarke is nothing new to Lexa. She spends more time doing it than she likes to admit, and often finds herself staring dreamily at her lover when she is supposed to be working, or training, or conducting official Commander business. She has memorized the shade of Clarke's golden hair, the shape of her smile, the exact placement of the light freckles on her face. But watching Clarke like _this—_ taut body arching, full breasts pushed forward, legs spread wide open—Lexa can't tear her eyes away. She can't even blink for fear of missing a single moment.

The sight is both glorious and torturous. Her  _hodness_ is straddling her hips, swaying along with the rhythm of the steadily flexing hand between her legs. It moves, but doesn't quite cover. Every once in a while, Lexa sees the shimmering pink of Clarke's folds or the tight red bundle of her clit peek through the gaps in her dripping fingers. She  _knows_  the slips are on purpose, and she  _knows_  Clarke is doing it just to torment her, to give her a glimpse of what she cannot have.

Her hands twitch just above Clarke's knees, already shaking with eagerness, but the moment she tries to slide them up, Clarke shoots her a warning look. "No touching," she says, in a tone that somehow manages to be playful and commanding all at once. "You know better. Those are the rules."

Lexa groans. She knows how to give orders, of course, but only Clarke can give them in the light and teasing way that makes her inner walls pulse with want. She licks her lips, digging her nails a little harder into Clarke's flesh. It isn't a sign of rebellion, but one of desperation. She can't touch the treasure hovering just out of reach, and restraining herself is almost physically painful.

The greedy sounds Clarke is making aren't helping. Her fingers roll in slow, luxurious circles, drawing out a string of breathy sighs, and Lexa chokes back a whine of her own.  _She_  wants to be the one touching Clarke's clit.  _She_ wants to be the one coaxing out those sweet noises. But flat on her back, under strict orders to keep still, she can only admire the shivering muscles of Clarke's smooth stomach.

"Do you want me to go inside?"

Clarke's voice is so low and husky, so syrupy sweet, that it takes Lexa a moment to actually process the words. Once understanding dawns, her own hips give a sharp jerk beneath Clarke's. Usually, Clarke asks that question while buried between  _her_  legs, teasing her entrance. Still, Lexa's answer is the same. "Y—yes _..._ "

But Clarke isn't satisfied. Her blue eyes sparkle with mischief, and her pouting lips curl into a smug grin. Lexa is so caught up in the thought of surging up to kiss them that she nearly misses the shapes they're forming. "Come on, Lexa. Yes, what?"

 _Yes... what?_  She knows Clarke wants something more from her, but in her frantic state, she can't remember what. Her eyes dart back down, to where Clarke has stopped touching herself and peeled apart her outer lips instead. Lexa gasps at the full view—soft pink folds and shining glaze and dripping strands of wetness framing the stiff, swollen bud of Clarke's clit. She can even make out tight ring of Clarke's opening, its outer edges pulsing softly...

"Yes, I want you to go inside." She means it to be an order, like the one Clarke gave to her, but instead, it's a whimpering plea. She is  _Heda_  no longer, but a willing supplicant to Clarke's desires. And it's a  _relief_. As frustrating as it is to watch Clarke pleasure herself without being invited to join in, as agonizing as it is to savor her _houmon_ with only her eyes and not her hands, it is also brings a strange sort of freedom. She is a vessel not for her people, but for Clarke—for the woman she loves more than anyone else.

When Clarke enters herself, first with one finger, then two, Lexa nearly comes without any stimulation at all. Watching Clarke's body swallow them to the knuckle reminds her of other nights, nights when her fingers have been buried inside of Clarke and Clarke's have slid deep within her, curling to find all of her most sensitive places. Her body shudders under the power of the memories, under the force of Clarke's spell, and she moans almost as loud as Clarke does.

"Lexa..." Clarke's hips start bucking faster, and she traps the stiff pink peak of her nipple between the knuckles of her other hand, twisting it just a little. "Lexa, this feels  _so_ good. You feel so good. So good inside me, filling me up..."

They are words Clarke pants against her ear at least every other day, but this time, they are almost cruel. She _isn't_  inside Clarke, and she _wants_  to be, and it's not  _fair_  for Clarke to say such things to her when she can't make the words a reality. Another hot lance of desire stabs straight through Lexa's belly, and she sobs with need, shaking almost as much as Clarke. Once more, her grip twitches. " _Klark, beja... ai laik yun, jos teik ai..."_

Her pleas go unanswered. Clarke leans further away, bringing  _both_  hands to work between her legs at once while still revealing everything. "Just let you what?" she murmurs, forming a 'v' around her clit to rub the shaft through its hood. "Just let you touch me?" Her other fingers continue curling, hard enough to make the veins on the back of her hand and the tendons in her slender forearm stand out. "Just let you fuck me?" She swivels her hips,  _almost_  offering herself up, and Lexa gasps sharply. Clarke is so red and wet and dripping and _open_  and she can hear slick sucking sounds with every motion. "Or just let you make me come...?"

That's too much. She does want Clarke to come—wants it more than a release of her own, wants it so much that she doesn't even care if she's the one who pushes her lover over the edge or not. All she wants is Clarke's pleasure, however she can get it. It's a gift she treasures above all others, except for Clarke's heart. "Please come," she whispers in a cracked, rasping voice _._ "Any way you want, Clarke."

"Fuck!"

As soon as Clarke goes rigid above her, Lexa forgets all about her struggle not to touch. She is so in awe of the beauty she is witnessing that moving doesn't even occur to her. She tries to drink it all in—the final thrust of Clarke's fingers, the way Clarke's clit and thighs jump in tandem, the clear streams of wetness spilling across her stomach with each uneven jerk of Clarke's hips—but she's sure she's missing something. Still, she does her best to commit the moment to memory. She wants to carry it with her always, just as she carries Clarke with her.

By the time the hot splashes taper off and Clarke's pelvis stops rocking, Lexa is panting for breath and covered in Clarke's release. She hasn't come, but the relief is so great that she almost feels as if she has achieved some kind of climax herself. It takes her several long moments to gulp in enough air to satisfy her stinging lungs, but when she does, she knows just what to say. " _Yu ste krei meizen..."_

Clarke's response is to lean down and plant a sweet, gentle kiss straight on her mouth. Lexa feels her lips tingle at the warm pressure, but before she can move them, Clarke pulls away again to grin at her instead. Her face is coated in a fine sheen of sweat, and her hair is slightly damp where it clings to her temples. "Beautiful, huh?" She shifts again, and Lexa's eyes widen in surprise when she realizes it is to move higher, closer to her face. "Because I can give you a closer look... since you've been _so_  good..."

Lexa swallows. The ache between her legs is pounding, demanding satisfaction, but her mouth is also watering for the want of salt. The memory of Clarke's taste is already burned into her tongue. Wearing it on her stomach simply isn't enough. She wants it in her mouth, running over her cheeks and chin. "Yes," she murmurs, opening her arms in welcome as Clarke kneels over her shoulders. "Of course. Anything for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hodness = (my) love
> 
> "Klark, beja... ai laik yun, jos teik ai..." = Clarke, please... I'm yours, just let me...
> 
> houmon = spouse/wife
> 
> "Yu ste krei meizen..." = You are so beautiful...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr prompt: "Ok but imagine lexa using the strap on and clarke keeps bucking and groaning until finally lexa has to give her what she wants and go faster and harder but she's so worried abt hurting clarke and she always has her hands somewhere on clarkes body - Like a hand at her hip/intertwining their fingers really loosely/stroking her hair while shes thrustin and shes so in awe bc shes the one on top of clarke and making her make these noises and clarkes arching up into lexa and feels so taken care of "

Lexa doesn't normally do this.

Normally, Clarke is the one who makes her tremble and shake. Clarke is the one who kisses her until she can't breathe and draws the raspiest, neediest kind of whines from her throat with a mixture of tongue and teeth. Clarke is the one who kneels over her and presses into her and drives fingers or a tongue or the shaft of a toy between her legs until she's a quivering pile of pure feelings and can barely remember her own name.

But.

But when Clarke asks to be fucked, when Clarke approaches her with the harness dangling from one finger and a sly grin, when Clarke gives her  _that_  smokey-eyed look and  _that_  smirk and whispers  _those_  words—'take me'—Lexa can think of nothing she wants more. She can think of nothing she would rather do than worship every inch of Clarke's body with her hands and lips as her hips set a rhythm. She can think of nothing better than angling just the right way with each stroke, experimenting to draw the sweetest sounds from Clarke's mouth and the most sticky heat from between Clarke's legs. She can think of nothing better than savoring how it is to be inside of Clarke, over Clarke, all-the-way-wrapped-up-in-Clarke.

It's something she truly hadn't believed she would get to experience until it happened. It's a miracle the two of them are together at all, alive and happy and in love, and it's something she doesn't take for granted, especially in moments like this. Especially when Clarke's nails rake gently between her shoulderblades and Clarke's heel digs into her backside in a wordless plea. Especially when Clarke says, "Oh, Lexa,  _more_..."

She's captivated by the shape and movement of Clarke's lips. She's entranced by the way Clarke's dusky golden lashes flutter, just kissing the pink-flushed points of her cheekbones. She's in awe of the way Clarke's deep blue eyes stare up at her from beneath those lashes, hazy and dilated, filled with so much love that it makes her head spin. Lexa can't help herself. Clarke is the artist between the two of them, but she memorizes every detail, painting a picture in her head to have forever. Every subtle shift in Clarke's expression is endlessly fascinating, and the knowledge that she is causing each one—that Clarke is completely focused on her, that Clarke's pleasure is all because of her—fills Lexa's heart up to the brim until it's overflowing.

Even though she knows she should be focusing on her movements, on her thrusts, Lexa can't keep her hands from exploring the rest of Clarke's body. Her inexperienced hips might falter from time to time, but Clarke is her canvas, and she paints swirling lines everywhere she can reach with her fingertips. She kneads the soft mounds of Clarke's breasts until the pink peaks of her lover's nipples are straining against her palms. She caresses Clarke's gleaming hair, a gesture of reassurance for both of them, letting the silky strands fall through her fingers. She lets her lips skim over Clarke's flushed face, along the line of her jaw, against the point of her chin, before finally,  _finally_ finding her mouth and melting into a kiss.

As soon as their lips meet, Clarke's fingers thread through hers. Their tightly twined hands fall onto the bed, and Lexa can't help but clasp harder. She craves this connection even more than the pangs of pleasure that course through her core every time the base of the toy presses back into her clit. She adores the sighs Clarke is spilling into her mouth more than any other sound in the world—except, perhaps, the sound of Clarke saying her name. She needs the emotions sketched across every inch of Clarke's face more than she needs the sun. Clarke  _is_  her sun, everything light in her world, and she can't help but bask in each tiny reaction Clarke gives her.

" _Lexa..._ "

The only thing that makes up for the loss of the kiss when they pull apart for air is the sweetness of Clarke's voice calling out to her.

"Oh God, Lexa, yes, harder..."

Because Clarke has asked, because she will do whatever her  _hodness_  wants without hesitation, Lexa picks up her pace just a little. She's still cautious, and she studies every inch of Clarke's face carefully for any signs of discomfort or uncertainty, but she finds none. All she finds is joy and bliss, every bit of it for her, and the steady squeezing of Clarke's hand tells her that her lover more than approves of the new tempo.

"More, Lexa. I need more of you..."

She thrusts again, angling to make sure the base of her shaft glides over Clarke's clit, constantly looking down, constantly searching... until, at last, Clarke clutches her hand in a death-grip and arches almost completely off the bed, head tipped back and breasts pushed up in offering. Lexa takes one of the tips between her lips and sucks, swirling her tongue around the swollen bud, but only for a moment. She needs to drown in the oceans of Clarke's eyes. She needs to watch the gorgeous expressions that pass over her  _houmon's_  face at the peak of pleasure.

Clarke seems to understand. She tilts her chin down once more, and Lexa is treated to the most beautiful sight in all the world, in every world: Clarke's face screwing up in pleasure as she quakes and shudders to pieces. As she watches each wave break over her lover, as she feels the answering ripples clench around the length of the shaft, Lexa smiles until her cheeks hurt. This is so much more satisfying than any release of her own. This is so much more wonderful than anything she thought she would ever witness. This is so more than she has ever believed she deserves.

She finally relaxes into what she's doing, giving a few final thrusts when Clarke loosens enough for her to move. Hot pulses of wetness spill out to streak along her thighs, running between them in rivers to stain the furs below every time she pumps her hips, but she doesn't care. She is making Clarke come. She is bringing Clarke to the height of ecstasy. Her.  _She_  is the one lucky enough to witness this, to do this. No matter how many times she is granted the privilege, she still can't quite believe it.

"Lexa, oh God, Lexa, yes,  _Lexa..._ "

The sound of Clarke chanting her name pulls Lexa abruptly back into an awareness of her own body. She wasn't expecting to come herself, but carrying Clarke over the edge has dragged her right up to it as well. She stares down at the precipice, unsure she wants to tip over. If she holds back, she can have more time to gaze at the gorgeous woman beneath her, more time to make a treasured memory...

But Clarke's heel digs harder into her rear, and Clarke's face tucks into her throat, and Clarke's hand clasps tight to hers as if to say:  _'Please. For me. Come with me. Share this with me.'_

And so she does. She has never been able to deny Clarke anything. Her clit throbs against the seat of the toy and her inner walls flutter and twitch, and she releases her own flood of wetness to join Clarke's, whimpering and jogging her hips the whole time without any thought for rhythm at all. When Clarke's hips tilt up to take her deeper and more heat that isn't hers rushes between them, Lexa thinks she might pass out. Her climax has extended Clarke's, and she is amazed. She is lost to pleasure, their pleasure together, and it as if she has seen and held the stars Clarke has come from.

"How did I get so lucky?" she pants when she finds the breath, still shivering with aftershocks. So many stars scattered through the sky, and Clarke is more beautiful and more brilliant than all of them put together.

Clarke sighs and smiles up at her, giving her hand one last squeeze and kissing the tip of her nose. "How did I?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From tumblr.
> 
> ok how about: a mirror just behind clarke's bed in polis with that intense railing headboard, so that lexa can hold onto the bars while clarke takes her from behind and they can watch each other's faces. clarke flushed and determined, hair falling out of its tie, breasts heaving as she thrusts hard. lexa pink-cheeked and sweating when clarke makes her raise her head out of the pillow so she can hear her and watch her mouth drop open and her eyes drop nearly shut as she gets closer and closer

It was Clarke's idea to put the mirror behind the headboard.

"So I can always see your face," Clarke had said when she asked why.

"So you can see exactly what I'm doing to you."

"So I can watch us together and remember that this is _real_."

And as she grips the curling wood, staring into her own unfocused eyes and rocking with the force of Clarke's thrusts, Lexa understands it perfectly. Sometimes, she forgets. With everything that's happened to the two of them—danger, betrayal, near-death experiences—it can be hard to remember that this is real. That Clarke is here, kneeling behind her,  _inside_  of her, fucking into her like they might not have another day on earth.

It's urgent, but not hard or rough. The strokes of Clarke's fingers are slow and deep, with an edge of gentle restraint that undoes Lexa more than the burning stretch a faster pace might give. On other nights, Clarke is desperate for her. On other nights, Clarke has to fuck both of their demons out. But tonight, Clarke is savoring her, and Lexa has grown to love being savored.

Plenty of people need Heda, but only Clarke needs Lexa. Only Clarke understands who Lexa is—not the proud Commander of the Twelve Clans, but the girl in the mirror, who wants to be taken and cherished and adored. No one but Clarke gets to see that part of her reflection. A lesser person might view this as weakness, inappropriate for her station, but Clarke... Lexa knows that Clarke sees it as a gift.

She knows because of the way Clarke's eyes meet hers in the glass behind the carved loops of latticework. They're as deep and blue as an ocean, overflowing with more love than they can hold, and they light up just a bit as her fingers form a hook. It only takes one curl for Clarke to find the right spot inside her. The throbbing pressure along her front wall swells, and Lexa moans, not bothering to choke back the sound. She knows Clarke wants to hear her as well as see her, and she wants whatever Clarke wants.

It's a relief, knowing all she needs to do to please her lover is enjoy herself.

Soon, Clarke's fingers have worked her into a pounding ache. She feels heavy, full. Full of Clarke's fingers, with so many sensations lapping at her skin that she can't sort through them all. Clarke's body is draped on top of hers, sticky with sweat, and the press of firm breasts against her shoulder blades and the hot latch of a mouth on the cord of her shoulder is too much for Lexa to bear. Her vision fragments, and instead of one cohesive image cut apart by thin coils of wood, all she sees is flashes:

A stream of Clarke's golden hair spilling over the soft curve of a shoulder—not Clarke's, but hers.

The tight brown peak of a nipple puckered to hardness.

A glimpse of Clarke's other hand tracing along her back, following the flowing lines of her tattoo, working slowly downward.

She can only see a gap of shadow where her thighs are, but she doesn't need the mirror to notice the wetness there. Clarke is coaxing rivers from her, strands of dripping slickness that wind down nearly to her knees.

"Lexa..."

The sound of her name falling from Clarke's lips has her shuddering, teetering on the edge of bliss.

_"Yu ste meizen."_

_Meizen._ Beautiful. A word no one else has ever called her since Costia. And she knows Clarke isn't only talking about the way she looks, but the way she  _is_. Clarke isn't describing her, but naming her. Clarke has seen every inch of her and found her beautiful, and so despite all the ugliness in the world, she must be.

And so when Clarke mutters, "Come for me," not quite an order, but more than a plea, Lexa comes. Every muscle in her body relaxes. Her inner walls flutter around Clarke's pumping fingers, and the stiff point of her clit pulses beneath the pad of Clarke's thumb. She twitches, rippling and clenching, pouring out a flood of heat, unsure how to handle the intensity. But Clarke is there to take her through it, to guide her hips, to whisper words of endearment against the shell of her ear.

But it's Clarke's eyes that hold her—shining twin jewels in the mirror, watching her, drinking her in, capturing and holding her. It's like their souls are living in the reflection, and for a moment, Lexa isn't even sure she's in her own body anymore. Only the two of them exist, frozen in a moment so perfect she almost can't believe it's real. Except it is, because the picture is painted right in front of her.

She wants to keep it forever. Maybe she can ask Clarke to draw it for her.

Eventually, it fades. Lexa floats back down from the stars and arrives on the ground once more, in her own body, with Clarke pressing kisses against the damp nape of her neck and Clarke's fingers still resting inside her. They're no longer thrusting, but the fullness is a comfort.

 _"Ai hod yu in, Leksa,_ _"_  Clarke murmurs, and Lexa sees the soft pink bow of her lover's mouth twitch up in a smile. Their hazy faces are hovering beside each other, flushed and glowing with love.

_"Ai hod yu in, Klark."_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's POV this time. I wanted to try something different.

Lexa is trying so hard to hold it in.

Clarke can tell by the shining-wet tears welling in her eyes. She can tell by the way Lexa worries her puffy lower lip between her teeth. By the way Lexa's lashes flutter. By the way Lexa's throat bobs, stopped up, stuck on a scream. But all that slips out from Lexa's quivering, barely-open mouth is a single shaking breath. Her fingers curl into the furs, knuckles bleached-white, her entire body trembling with effort.

Effort that makes Clarke's chest tighten with sadness.

She doesn't want Lexa to feel this way. She doesn't want Lexa to feel like she can't shout, can't scream, can't let everything out when the storm of emotions inside her swells up and spills over.  _Heda_  is always controlled, but Lexa... Lexa feels things so deeply, and with such intensity. Beneath the cold mask, Lexa is so tender. And Clarke knows she's the only one who ever gets a glimpse of this—the lovely, awful conflict on Lexa's face as her heart battles with her head.

But she knows how to make sure Lexa's heart wins.

"Let it out for me," she murmurs, leaning down to whisper right against the shell of Lexa's ear. Her fingers keep pumping, pressing insistently into the clinging heat wrapped around them, but she thinks it's the tickle of her hair gliding over the bare curve of Lexa's shoulder that makes her  _niron_  shiver. "It's okay. You're safe here with me."

Safe. She's tried so hard to make sure Lexa feels safe with her, because she knows all too well what a dangerous, cruel place the world can be. But here, in bed, just the two of them, they're shielded from everything else. Lexa can let go, and she can watch and remind herself that the world is beautiful after all.

But Lexa isn't there yet. Isn't quite ready to let go. She shakes her head, blinking back the tears and choking down the lump lodged in her throat. "I..."

Clarke hooks her fingers, pressing directly against a sensitive spot she's searched out through months of careful practice. Whatever words Lexa might have said are cut off, lost in the slightest hint of a groan. It's high and breathy, more of a whisper, but it's a start. It's enough.

"I  _can't_ ," Lexa hisses. A dark flush stains her cheekbones, and a line of sweat has broken out just beneath her hairline. Her inner walls are fluttering, throbbing, and Clarke can feel them clutch tighter around her knuckles as she pushes just a little bit deeper.

She takes Lexa's lips, swallowing her ragged breaths, thrusting at a slow and deliberate pace. The kiss is hot and deep and messy, a tangle of tongues and a slight clash of teeth when her aim slides a little off, but she doesn't pull back until she feels the vibration of a moan against her mouth. "I want you." She curls again, savoring the way Lexa's hips jerk and hover off the bed. "I want to hear you."

Lexa is sweating beneath her, shuddering, a tense mess of ache and over-stimulation. And Clarke  _loves_  her this way, loves her when she's this vulnerable, because she knows that in another moment, Lexa will give in. In another moment, Lexa will finally surrender and allow herself to feel everything.

"I'll... I'll be loud," she gasps, her hands shooting up from the wrinkled furs to clutch Clarke's back instead.

That's when Clarke knows she's won. When Lexa's nails rake between her shoulder blades, when Lexa's fingers dig into her for dear life, she knows the beginning of the end is near. 

"Good."

She doubles her efforts, driving harder and faster, staring down into Lexa's shining green eyes and watching every subtle twitch of her face to make sure she's doing it right. Although she doesn't want to miss a single detail, she's pretty sure she could do this with her eyes closed. That's how well she knows Lexa's body. That's how easy it is for her to find the  _perfect_  spot, forward and slightly up past the tight ring of muscle at Lexa's entrance, and slam into it over and over and over again.

It works. The sounds Lexa has been holding back for what feels like hours finally burst free. Her spine arches, and her mouth falls open, the sweetest, most beautiful whimper Clarke has ever heard breaks the silence. Tears track down Lexa's cheeks, and Clarke hurries to kiss them away, tasting salt as the first cry turns into a series of long, desperate, high-pitched whines.

"Beautiful," she mutters, scattering kisses all across Lexa's face. _"Yu ste meizen._  You're  _so_  beautiful, Lex..."

That does it. Lexa doesn't just moan, but  _shouts_ , her entire body stiffening for a single timeless second. It's the most perfect sound Clarke has ever heard, and just as perfect is the rhythmic rush of heat that floods into her hand and runs in rivers down her wrist as she finally earns Lexa's release. She keeps thrusting and curling through the contractions, determined to wring every bit of pleasure possible from her lover. Each time Lexa lets go like this, each time Lexa places this much trust in her, she's determined to make it even better than the time before.

It takes a while for Lexa's peak to fade, but that's just the way Clarke likes it. It's a sign of a job well done when she can keep swiping the pad of her thumb over Lexa's slippery, twitching clit for several minutes afterward and add to the growing stain on the bed beneath them. Lexa's thighs are coated with slickness, and so is the lower part of Clarke's arm, and the soft string of whimpers and sighs keeps coming, but she doesn't care. This is what it means for Lexa to give herself over. This is what it means to make Lexa feel safe, to accept all of her, to cradle her while she shatters and then put her back together again.

"You're so beautiful," she repeats when Lexa's hazy irises begin to clear. And just to prove it, she withdraws her fingers and brings them to her lips, sliding them into her mouth for a taste. At the same time, she cups her other hand back between Lexa's legs, shielding her and offering protection.

Lexa doesn't respond with words, but she does cuddle in closer and smile as she rides out her aftershocks. 

It's a smile full of enough relief and gratitude to remind Clarke of the stars.


End file.
